


Spark

by Prfct7act



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-20 05:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20222452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prfct7act/pseuds/Prfct7act
Summary: The time had come.  All it took was a spark for Tony to put aside everything he'd ever been forced to believe.  It took a second look at Steve Rogers to realize that everything he had ever known, the whole system described as unshakable, would be transformed.  Those tired blue eyes, inebriated with the desire to live, not just survive, would move crowds.





	1. Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I hope you enjoy It. I'm sorry for any mistakes, English is not my mother language.

It was late afternoon. The orange glow of the sky was gradually being filled with the dark blue of the night. The gentle breeze from the meadow allowed Steve to breathe deeply for the second time on the day. The first time it happened just before the man entered one of the District 12 coal mines.

At 25 years old, working in the mines was not something unique to Steve. This was the main activity of the District. From the age of 14, any kid in the area could already venture into charcoal withdrawal. 'It could', in fact, present itself as euphemism. No child had a choice. If they were born in the meadow, at least they wouldn't have. By the age of 12 he would have been begging for the chance to provide something so his family could survive for a few more months or weeks. Just like Steve himself. His father died when he was only 12 years old. He was a mine worker. A strong explosion took his life as the wreckage took his last breath. After that, Steve's mother was never the same. Her smiles were sucked as her health. Coughs and groans became part of his daily life. Steve does not remember the last time he saw her off the boards they call bed.

It's been 13 years since Steve took responsibility. Keep yourself alive so your mother could survive. For your fatigue, the coins he earns in the mines are not enough. For this reason, the man needs to make another stop before going home. His broad body curls as Steve lifts his leg, passes the fence that borders District 12, and enters the woods.

In front of his house, Steve already carries three squirrels and two rabbits, a result of the traps that his father taught him when he was small. The forest, as a source of survival, also proved to be an escape. A place where the wickedness of the capital, the destruction and poverty of the country, could not seem to touch. Steve always saw himself as calm and it seemed to connect with the sound of trees and birds.  
In the little room where he slept with his mother, Steve realized that the woman was already in deep sleep. The dish with flour was showing that the middle-aged woman had already fed. That reassured Steve for a few seconds. Before he could think of what to expect of the next morning. A few hours separated him from the day of the harvest.

The harvest was the ceremony in which a resident of each of the 12 districts was drawn to be a representative at the Hunger Games. Twelve people, men and women, children and adults, from 14 to 25 years old killing themselves in an arena created by the Capital. President Stark, in his 68 years, had repeated the phrase enough times that neither Steve, nor the thousands of residents of the country, would forget. Nothing can outweigh the power of the Capital. With this idea, 98° editions of the games remained firm.

Walking slowly around the square, carrying the weight of his mother on one arm, four words are repeated in the blond boy's head. Just one more time. Just one more time. Steve in his 25 years, would participate in the harvest one last time before becoming unreadable for the games. If his name were not called again, the fear of addressing his certain death and his mother's might go away. Just one less detail to worry about. After all, he would still see his friends, neighbors, and even his future children fight for life in whatever new ingenious idea the game planners of that era had.

The population of the coal district was crowded into the square. Eyes fixed on the big screen in front of the square when Effie Tricket, in her painfully colored clothes and shrill and annoyingly cheerful voice, said.

"Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

The rest of that speech was overshadowed by Steve's loud and confused thoughts. In the distance, Bucky, his best childhood friend, tried to catch Rogers' attention in an attempt to make a bland joke that would reassure the younger man. Bucky was already 27 years old. No need to fear. Not by himself.

"Without further ado, let's get to know the brave tribute of District 12", Effie said as she moved and shuffled the damn little papers that would end someone's life. District 12 would never have a chance to win the games. Not when there were Districts that trained their children to volunteer for games.

When Effie cheerfully quoted the name written on the piece of paper. Steve felt fatigue, pain, and his breath came off. Another year had passed. His name had not been called. But Harley Brandon's had. The boy froze at the sound of his name. He was only 14 years old. It was one of the children Steve watched grow. How many times had not he hunted to help Harley's mother care for her three children? It never crossed his mind that this boy could be called, it was only one name in thousands. Several, like Steve's, repeated several times by the need to put food on the table. Maybe that was why Steve had not thought twice about standing in front of the boy and as quietly as he could say,

"I volunteer as tribute."

It was, once again, one of the days cursed by Tony. The population screamed and shouted with excitement as each name was called. Tony was confined to forced smiles that seemed to deceive the other residents of the capital. If they had known how much contempt he felt in observing the whole ceremony, perhaps he was no longer alive. In those moments he wondered if it was really worth living. In the midst of filth, poverty, despair and death, some found their motive of laughter, of smile, in bet. His neighbors, people Tony knew all his 27 years of life, laughed at death. Meanwhile, the man kept up appearances, just as his father had forced him. 

Even so, when a tall, young, blond and impressively strong man for one of the poorer districts volunteered for the games, Tony can not contain the admiration. Of course, he had seen many volunteers. Only in this edition three men and one woman ran to show the world how brave and honored they were. Where was the honor in annihilating children for pure fun Tony had not yet been able to find out. And he was a genius. The fact is that with Steve Rogers, it seems that was the name of the volunteer, was different. The man's gaze showed no joy or excitement, showed determination, pain, and hurt. 

It had been a long time since Tony had witnessed such an altruistic attitude. The last one had been something her mother probably did. But to see someone so poor give his life for someone else, a child, increased the anger and fire that Tony kept to himself as much as he could. No one deserved such a cruel fate. It was necessary only a second glance at the man from the meadow for Tony feels that something would change. For the first time in 20 years, Anthony Stark allowed himself to feel hope.


	2. Stay Alive

Not even when he was ripped from his mother's arms, without a chance to say goodbye to his best friend, his brother, Bucky, Steve regretted his decision. He couldn't. It was the right thing to do. That child deserved to live. Steven Rogers would guarantee that.  
In the ultra-high-tech train built by some of the genius and futile minds that would be vibrating at that moment, Steve was approached by Fury. The only living victor in District 12 was a tall, elderly man with a terrible scar that found the place where there should be an eyeball. Should be, because Nick Fury had lost it during his last battle in the arena. The black man was lying on a bench, waiting for the next idiot to die before even the sound of cannons started. Steve looked at him closely before uttering a small doubtful "hello." The monocular turned his eyes to knives and quickly began to speak.

"A question. I'll see if my effort will be worth it". The man began with exactness. "Why should I help you?"  
Surprise passed through Steve's face, even though he expected a similar attitude from a winner of the Games. No one lovely could really win them.  
"I am not the most worthy to win. Maybe I'm not the one with the most need, or the desire to be the winner", Steve began hesitantly.  
"It started very well, boy", interrupted Nick in his voice with a sneer.  
"I do not want to kill those people. I will never forgive myself. I do not even know if I will actually kill. But" , Steve continued, with remorse.  
"What?", said Fury with some force and curiosity.  
"I promised my mother. I always keep my promises". Steve finally said, keeping his head up. Fury looked at Steve for a few more seconds, sighed, and returned to his cabin. He did not utter a single word. It seems that those words convinced Nick Fury, because days later the instructor already had a long list about the other competing tributes.

"What can you do?", began the dark-skinned man, always straight to the point.

That was a good question, actually. But Rogers never had much opportunity to test his skills as he struggled for survival. Putting it that way did not seem so different from the Games. The difference was in the fact that no one tried to kill him every day. Not directly, at least.

"I can manipulate knives". The blonde has chosen to follow this path. "I usually hunt", Nick was not surprised as expected, but it took a moment before he spoke again.

"Your biggest problem will be the careerists. You look strong but you have not been trained like them", the winner began. "Do not underestimate them, and you may be able to survive for more than two days."

"What a relief", sarcasm molded Steve's tone. The man was excited to postpone his death. Fury simply narrowed his eyes.

"Maybe people will pity you. That may bring sponsors", was the response of the old tribute. "In most cases, that's the difference between life and death. Your irony may please me, but I doubt it will have the same effect on the residents of the capital. So I suggest you convince them".  
"Convince them of what?". His blue eyes sparkled with interest.  
"That you're worth a bet on", Nick said, looking at Steve.

The day of the interviews with the presenter Caeser had arrived, the eccentric man who changed more of hair than Steve changed his clothes. He was noisy and captivating to the people of the capital. His function was to animate the population even more until began the narrations of the games.

Preparations started early. This day was especially important to get as many potential sponsors as possible. Beauty or charisma always attracted the attention of these people. Steve needed one of them. The beauty part was in the hands of the stylist Cinna. The man of Steve's age was extremely talented. Besides, he always gave Rogers the most normal clothes possible, which he quite enjoyed.

"Let's continue with the initial plan", Cinna seemed to love the old military style. The man said that the determination in the blond's eyes as he volunteered for Harley Brandon made him look like a young soldier. Well, that was definitely the fight of Steve's life. So he was not surprised when his stylist appeared in a dark blue uniform that definitely highlighted his eyes. Brooches adorned his chest. The clothes could exude authority.

"Keep your head up. Today you are the leader", Cinna added with a smile. Steve can not help laughing. It was a utopia, really.

Screams and exclamations caught the attention of Rogers, the program had begun. Caesar looked more excited than ever.

"It's already 99 years of Hunger Games. Can you believe that?", he laughed.

A line of tributes got in order. One by one each representative did his best to make his mark there. Some made jokes, others used the aggressive way, others just laughed. And soon Steve found himself on the stage.

Rogers did justice to his uniform. He maintained a military pose that demanded respect and admiration. But he did not stop using a slight smile. He did not need the people to confuse attitude with arrogance.

"Wow, wow! It seems that someone is prepared to fight for our country!", Caesar said in his exaggerated tone. Steve smiles. "The truth is that our participant here has acted like hero before. Steve, what was going on in your head when you took over that little boy's place?"

"I only knew I had to save him. That I would do whatever it takes"

"So touching", Caesar said as applause echoed in the audience. "A real captain's attitude, huh?", and the crowd began to shout. Cinna certainly has overcome himself this time.

"America!". There's a shout from the audience. 

"Captain America!". Another exclamation. Caesar laughs without humor. America was a great continent of the last century. It instilled prosperity and authority. It was known as the continent of freedom. Until it was no more. His demanche gave birth to Panem. He doubted that the president wanted the exaltation of that time. Caesar seemed to know this, unlike the rest of the Capitol, which now vibrated even more with reference.

"Looks like you just got another nickname, Captain", the host of vibrant green hair resumed.

"You could not be more honored", the blond man tried to show as much sympathy as possible.

"Now tell me. Who's waiting for you at home?". The change of subject did not surprise Steve.

"My mom", that's all he said. 

"I'm sure she's already proud", the commander of the night waved. "What about a girlfriend? Do not lie to me", he finished with an eccentric laugh.

"Not really. Not yet". Which was true. Steve did not have much time to get a hold of anyone. He enjoyed the company of some women in his district, but never enough to extend for more than a few months.

"Apparently you'll have to win, won't you?". The crowd has been heard. Apparently they were already interest on that. Rogers forced a laugh and a siren was heard. It was time to finish the interview

"Well, good luck, Captain!". He shook the blond man's hand.

The first day of training was intense. When he arrived at the training center, Steve was easily intimidated by the great careerists who spun and jumped like mortal assassins. Not that Rogers showed that. He needed to look like he knew what he was doing. District 1, 2, 3, 8, and 9 tributes were the oldest. All over 22 years. The others were just kids. He decided not to think about it now.

Fury had warned him not to show everything he knew at the outset. He was from District 12, people hoped the only thing he could do was take out coal. That could be an advantage, which he did not want to lose. The blonde then started with more complex traps.  
After a few moments he realized that everyone's attention was distant from him. Well, all of them except a young man in his 18s. The dark-haired man looked puzzled.

"You are good at it", began the tribute.

"I've been training", he said simply. It was not a lie after all. He had already lost count of how many traps he had made at home.

"In district 12?". The dark-haired man raised his eyebrows.

"Relaxing, don't you think?", said Steve, looking up in frustration at the young man who just laughed.

"I saw what you did. Well, everyone saw it". It looked like the opponent had finally reached its goal.

"He would not stand a chance". Rogers replied straight with his hands still holding the trap rope.

"And will you?". The dark-haired man folded his arms, but he kept an expression of genuine curiosity.

"We'll see". Steve asked with a smile. "He will not have to die anyway".

The another tribute he nodded in agreement before returning to his knives.

The trainings continued for another week. Steve managed to have brief conversations with participants in districts 4 and 8. Not to mention the occasional threats from the district 3 careerist. That man just did not look like Steve. Which made him just a brighter target.

Before he realized two days had passed. The 99th edition of the Hunger Games will officially start today. Steve was already dressed in beige pants, a white T-shirt and a black jacket. Beneath his sleeve was a small brooch of a blue and red star, a small reference to America that people seemed unable to disassociate their image.

Nick Fury approached Steve. The instructor seemed determined, but his eyes were heavy. All that remained was to wait for sponsors to decide to help Steve.

"It does not matter what type of arena, you will need water. It's your first step". The winner began. "Get away from the cornucopia as soon as possible. You do not want to be in the middle of the bloodbath".

"Okay", said the blond in a low voice. Nick studied it for a few moments before repeating two words.

"Stay alive", and left.

Steve was lifted by a platform. The 60-second count will begin. He only managed to focus on the green surrounding the arena. A forest, he sighed. Maybe he had a chance after all. And the cannons sounded.


	3. Promise

The cannons sounded and Steve ran toward the guns. Poor decision, he knew, but he needed basic supplies. His first challenge was to overcome the initial bloodbath. Around him, careerists were already hitting brutally the tributes of District 5 and 7 tributes. With this distraction, Steve managed to grab knives and cutting discs, and also a backpack with supplies. Satisfied, the forest was his destination. The blonde ran so hard that he lost all sense of time. He only stopped when the only sound he heards was from birds and crickets. As always the arena was flawless. With extreme realism, Steve felt himself back in the woods of his home. The young man allowed himself to rest for a few minutes, watching the small vessel of water, ropes and some biscuits. It would be enough for two days at the most. His mission, besides not bumping into any tribute on the way, would be to find water as fast as possible.

Steve could not complete more than two steps before his attention turned to a particular sound. In the middle of all that green and brown, the miner tried to identify some movement that indicated a threat. As fast as it came the sound faded. Three steps distanced him from a long, tree-like animal. A snake.   
He was even quick to strike his knife precisely at the reptile, that lost his head. Rogers did not have time to continue his journey before another snake got in his way. And one more. And other. Slowly moving his neck, Steve noticed that tens, maybe hundreds of those animals were already around him. Increasing his grip on the knife he wore, he started to reach all that green. In each snake that killed, two more appeared. Steve tried to retreat towards a tree. With only three motions and the aid of the cutting material, Steve clung to one branch, then another, sprang up and hit the top of the tree. Unfortunately not before he felt excruciating pain in his left ankle. The tribute twisted at that time. Thanks God the Capitol serpents could not climb trees. His participation in the games would be very fast. If It won't be already, considering the bite marks on his leg.

The venom of those snakes acted very fast, Steve realized. In a few minutes his ankle will begin to swell, his breath starting to wheeze. He felt on fire. The heat rising from his leg was desperate. Three cannons were heard in the sky. By their accounts, there were still seven tributes in the competition. Soon, he realized, there were be only six of them.

His eyes already threatened to close when a white object seemed to come toward him. A small parachute from the capital. Quickly Steve opened the artifact to find a small bottle and a note. "Drink this, don't die", said the paper. Below the instructions a name appeared, 'The Mechanic'. With a flick of the sweet liquid in his mouth, the relief was instantaneous. The pain faded away and he felt he could breathe once more.

Night had come nearer the arena. Steve realized that he would sleep on that branch. Hoping that no mortal ant would kill him during the few minutes he would allow himself to close his eyes. Before losing consciousness, Rogers tried to think how Fury had gotten that patronage that allowed him to live for a few more hours. With a heavy mind he could not imagine arguments that would convince anyone to help him.

The sound of crushed twigs woke Steve up. When he opened his eyes, he realized that the dawn was approaching. The noise came from the footsteps of a masculine tribute that he could not recognize. The competitor seemed to be extremely oblivious to Steve's presence in that tree. Rogers had planned for things to go on like this. Odds really weren't in his favor. An attempt to hide was interrupted by the twitching of a branch. Instantly the boy rolled his eyes and caught sight of Steve.

"Do not kill me. Please do not kill me". The tribute exclaimed desperately with a volume far greater than desired in a deadly arena. Rogers offered to bring a finger to his mouth, murmuring silence to the man. A boy, actually. Steve realized that his opponent could not be more than 15 years old. He had vaguely remembered him. Peter. District 7.

Peter's words had already attracted attention. Sounds of footsteps have taken over the night. At least two individuals were approaching. Steve got down as fast as he could. The boy was frightened.

"Do not try to kill me, and I'll do the same". Steve said as he grabbed his disks and the untouched big knife. The short, thin, dark-haired boy did not have time to respond before Steve took his lead and threw one of the disks into a careerist. The arrow that the man had carried fell at the same time that blood flowed from his neck. A cannon was heard. But it was a choking sound that caught Steven's eye. A woman was about to put a knife on Peter's neck. Rogers did not think. He simply threw a dagger into the woman's head, fortunately taller than the boy. The woman fell back as the teenager ran toward Steve.

At that point the sun had already lit the forest. He still needed to find water. Steve turned his gaze to the child. He looked so innocent. Regret filled his heart at the thought of what the boy had already faces in such a young age. In those moments the hatred for the system to which they were subjected seemed to grow. Steve could take care of himself. Try to survive. But the children of his District, of his country, deserved much more than just survival.

"I suppose you have not found water yet", Steve said. Peter just shook his head.

"Here", continued the blonde, delivering some stilts left in his canteen. "That's what we need to do now", he demanded as the boy's eyes softened.

"Thank you, Captain Rogers", Peter said with a threat of a smile. Steve did not hide his displeasure before responding firmly.

"Do not call me like that". The blonde grabbed his backpack and continued walking.

"Yes, sir", Peter said quickly as he ran after Steve.

The sun was once again lost on the horizon. The night would not take more than a few hours to arrive. And still no sign of water. And no cannon sounded all day. It was no surprise to Steve, actually. The closer of the end came, the quieter the arena became.The tributes took more care. With five competitors still in contention, they were only the careerists against Peter and him. Close to the denser vegetation, the blonde spoke again.

"We must rest at night. Maybe take turns sleeping. The careerists will be looking for us". In the search for water Steve managed to get two rabbits and one squirrel. Peter had picked up some fruit and nuts. The boy had an awesome knowledge about what to eat or not to eat. Made a quick bonfire, the animals roasted with an intoxicating scent. At least for those who had not eaten much more than berries in two whole days.

"Where did you learn to do these things?". Peter's voice took Steven's focus off the food. The miner imagined that the boy was referring to the hunting and the fire, or perhaps the way he acts in the woods.

"With my father", he said simply. Reveal that he ventured into the forest of the district would not sound very good to the thousands of people attending him at the time, including the president.

"What about you? Who did teach you about the nuts? Your father?", Steve asked.

"Oh no", the teenager began. "My parents died when I was little. My aunt liked to study plants and vegetation. She teached me". Peter replied with a look that showed that old memories were being revived.

"I'm sorry about your parents". Regretfully replied the blonde. He knew how hard it was to grow up without a father.

Peter murmured a 'thank you' before hesitating, as if he did not know how to raise another topic for the conversation.

"Why are you doing this?". The boy sat with his hands clasped to his knees, showing some fear. "I mean, why are you helping me?"

Steve knew that conversation would happen sometime. He wished he did not have to think about the moment when he and Peter were alone in the arena. If that moment ever come.

"You look like a good boy", he answered simply.

"But only one will survive", Peter said hesitantly.

"Just think about it when the time comes. We still have three competitors out there", the man said as he grabbed one of the rabbit's thighs and handed it to Peter. He unfortunately could not do what he had just advised the boy.

By the time the night had fallen and the bonfire had been very well erased, Peter was lying down. Steve leaned against a rock and tried to stay alert.

"You can sleep. I'll let you know if anything happens", Peter's light smile was the response he received. A few minutes passed before he heard a slight murmur.

"I do not want you to die", Peter whispered. Steve could not answer that. Just pulled away a few strands that fell on the boy's face. He really did not want Peter to die either. At that moment he made another promise. He would not let that happen. He remembered, however, that in order to keep it, he would have to break another one.


	4. Choice

The man's eyes were heavy. But he could not succumb to sleep. Definitely not. His throat was dry. He felt the dehydration making him tired. He could not succumb to that. Not that close of the end. A noise almost frightened him, before realizing that it was another parachute in the capital. He really did not know the situation.

I was not in a certain death situation right now, at least I did not think so. Picking up the object, he saw that another note was there. "Go west. Take the pill. Do not die," once again signed by the 'Mechanic'. He really needed to find out who that person was. Sponsors could not provide tips on the arena. Just help with food or medicine. Whoever the mechanic might be, that person was probably in great danger. Along with the piece of paper, a small round pill and a vase with water. He hoped it was not poison and threw it in his mouth. A wave of energy passed through his body and he felt incredibly aroused. So that was the function of the medicine. The mechanic seemed to have heard his thoughts.

"Thank you ", Steve whispered, looking nowhere in particular.

A few hours passed before Steve felt little drops on his skin. It began to rain. The idealizers of the games must have been bored and decided to liven up the situation a little. Steve shuddered when he realized the drops caused a slight burn. Not enough to be classified as a burn. But the rain seemed to increase at torrential levels. He needs to get Peter out. Shook and pulled the boy when a huge lightning struck a tree only ten feet away. The message was clear. Steve and Peter started running in zigzag movements, heading west. The two of them were already soaked and the rain did not pass any signal that would pass early. A step from Steve was always followed by lightning. In between the thunderstorms a cannon was heard. Someone was not as fortunate as them. The young men kept running. When they stepped into a pool, they spotted a lake and the rain abruptly stopped. One more day had begun. The tributes stopped gasping.  
It did not make sense. Why had that flood stopped as soon as they got where they wanted to? The answer came very quickly. After another glance at the lake, Steve caught sight of something floating in the murky water. The tribute os district 3. Before thinking about what to do next, the district 1 careerist came out from behind a few rocks. He carried a huge ax in his hands. His face was pure anger.

Through the lightning of the last hour, Rogers had to leave his knives behind. At the moment he had only the metal discs that were in the bottom of his backpack. There was no time. The careerist was already close. Yet he ran to open the bag. He had just grabbed a record as a trail of blood covered his shirt. When he looked up, a cannon sounded. This was not his blood, he realized. The careerist had died by the hands of Peter. A small knife gripped the thigh of the red tribute, and the wire around his neck cut at his throat. The 7th district boy was more prepared than Steve had thought.

"There's only one more left", Peter gasped, before falling unconscious.

Steve grabbed the boy in his arms, loudly repeating his name. The blonde ran his eyes over the boy's body before peering at a small cut on Peter's arm. It did not make sense. A simple knife-cut would not knock someone down that way. Examining more carefully, Rogers realized that a purple substance stained the young tribute's white skin. Poisoned knife. From the scent that exuded from the wound he could see that the poison had been improvised with deadly berries that adorned the forest. He allowed himself to hug the child's body. There was no way to stop that poison. Tears streamed down Steve's face. She could not help but cling to Peter. To fall in love with the innocence of the boy. This was the little brother he could not have.  
Steve's blurred vision almost stopped him from seeing when something hit his arm. Another parachute. Releasing Peter for a few moments, he stepped forward to open the package. A syringe was there. The blonde did not hesitate in applying it to the teen's arm. A few distressed seconds passed, before the pallor faded from Pete's face and the same opened his eyes again. Steve can not help laughing through tears and hugging Peter harder.

"Hi, Captain Rogers. What happened?", said the dark-haired man with his usual innocence. Steve allowed himself to laugh harder.

"Hi, Peter", replied the blonde, ignoring the question. He stepped back a little and offered Peter some water. After calming down, he remembered the note he had not previously heard. "I'm sorry. Do not die" it said. Steve did not understand about what the mechanic apologized for.

Night fell and they had moved away from the lake. Surely that place would be targeted for the district 2 tribute. Peter was as well as he could be. Nuts did not stop hunger. Seated behind stones, they could not help but think about what awaited them next. Only one would be the winner.

Steve could not be surprised to see that another parachute was on his feet. Inside the container some bread and a piece of cheese. Rogers can not help but smile as he reads another note. "Do not make me cry, Rogers. Do not die." If he left, he needed to meet his faithful sponsor. The only thing he knew was that the person was incredibly rich. Peter's medicine and the antidote to the sting he suffered for sure cost a fortune.

"Looks like somebody likes you", Peter said with a genuine smile.

"I do not think liking would be the case. More like 'I bet you a fortune on you'. And stop calling me sir. I'm not that old", the blond said, looking humorous. "Just Steve is fine".

One day passed and no sign of the careerist. No cannon sounded. Surely the capital should be bored one more time. Steve's thoughts seemed to be read. Peter was sitting next to the grown man when he felt a breeze blow through his brown hair. At that moment, the men were already on their feet. The breeze turned to gale. And the gale became a kind of intelligent tornado. Their instinct was to run once again. Around him twigs and stones were sucked into the event, making it even more deadly. If they stopped for only a second, it would be overwhelmed by the artificial event. The young men hit trees and shrubs. They noticed scratches covering their faces as the air grew heavier. They had come out of the forest. They were led to the cornucopia. They did not have to be a genius to realize that the idealizers wanted to end the games where they started.

It was still dawn when they saw a dark silhouette. The careerist. The man should not be more than 22 years old. He was one of those who volunteered only for the desire to become a winner. The boy's hands were adorned with a long machete and a large ax. His tanned face contrasted with his planted, almost white hair. His eyes indicated an expression of psychopathy. Steve felt sorry for him. The games influenced more than anyone could imagine.

The tribute was already racing toward him when Peter prepared his knives and Steve released a record. The opponent managed to deflect easily. Now Rogers had only one more artifact. The platinum rider rushed toward Steve at high speed before plunging the ax into the chest of the one who separated him from the final prize. The miner used all his strength to block the blow with his arms. Peter acted and stuck a small knife into the shoulders of the tribute from the second district. The man screamed before turning to the boy and striking him in the face. Peter swayed and fell back on the still damp earth of the arena. He had lost his weapons. The careerist smiled before preparing the blow with an ax that would end Peter's life. The boy had already accepted his fate. He closed his eyes and waited. Seconds passed and nothing happened. Peter's hesitant gaze opened to see the exact moment when the careerist fell to his knees and a pool of blood formed around him. A cannon sounded.  
Steve released the bloody disc as he tried to catch his breath. He fell on the ground and allowed himself to observe the birth of another day. How much coincidence! A few more minutes passed before Rogers spoke again.

"Are you alright? ", the man asked Peter. The response was a nod.

"You?". The questioning fell back on his lap. Steve can not help but repeating the gesture of the child.

"Mr. Rogers?", Peter broke the silence that had settled down again. "I mean, Steve. What about now?", said the boy in a hesitant, curious voice that made him much younger.

"Now", began the blonde. The truth is that his decision had already been made a long time ago He chose to keep the promise he had made to himself. Your mother would forgive you. She would understand his motives. "Now you kill me", he added firmely

"What?", Peter was startled. "I could never do that. And... even if I could, I would not want to", continued the boy, whose voice had already grown louder with the urgency of his words.

"You're just a child, Peter. A good boy. You deserve to live. More than me", Steve argued. "That's my decision. I will not change my mind, you know that". Tears were already beginning to appear in Peter's eyes.

"That's not fair. I have the right to choice too", the brunett was already up and moving uneasily. Rogers can not help but sigh.

"Only one of us will leave alive. It will be you. But I will not force you to kill me", Steve had never thought his death would occur with his own hands. He did not wish it for anyone. But if it was necessary for Peter to live for another 50 or 60 years, he would not hesitate.

"No! No, please, Mr. Rogers. Please!". Tears streamed freely across the boy's face. He cried unconscionably. Steve can not help feeling his own eyes start to burn.

"It's all right, Peter. You'll be fine", his lips lifted into a reassuring smile in between the tears.

"No!", cried Peter angrily. The boy rested his eyes on the bloody disk that had been left on the floor and grabbed him before Steve could even figure out exactly what would happen. The brunett carried the sharp material close to his jugular. No, no, that could not be real.

"Peter", Steve called carefully. At that moment he felt his breath catch in his throat. "Peter. Please. Do not do it. For me. I'm asking you". The man slowly took small steps toward the boy. Peter shivered intensely, and the sobs did not stop.

"Do not come near!", cried the child.

"It's all right. It's all right". Steve exclaimed with hands in surrender. "Peter, I will not hurt myself. I promise", Rogers tried calmly. "I swear. I always keep my promise", he added. That was no longer entirely true.

"Truth?", Peter wept. The disc had moved a few millimeters from his throat.

"Yes! I promise", said Steve. The boy released the disc before being caught by the blonde in a strong hug.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Rogers. I'm sorry", he boy murmured again. The blonde's hands were running through the boy's hair as he whispered soothing words.

"It's all right. It's gonna be okay. We'll be fine", he promised.

At that moment Steve knew that he could not leave the little brother he had found in the arena. This was definitely the last thing he expected from the Hunger Games. Rogers let go of Peter and started rummaging in his pockets. He grabbed small red spheres. Similar fruits are those modified by the Capitol to be mortal.

"Trust me", said Steve as he put those fruits in Peter's hand. "Trust me", he emphasized. The boy just nodded.

"On the three", said the blonde as he prepared to put the food in his mouth. "One...two... ", before the tributes' lips touched the fruit, a cannon sounded. It was not the one that Steve had heard so many times.

"Stop!", a voice marked urgently ordered. "Steve Rogers and Peter Parker are the winners of the 99th Hunger Games".

As they were lifted by the flying vehicle of the capital, something came back to Peter's mind.

"Mr. Rogers, those fruits were not", he hesitated.

"I know", Steve said, and smiled.


	5. Savior

Steve had not yet processed all the events. Soon after winning the games, he was swept away in a mess of people. Probably the gamemmakers. He still could not believe that his little plan had worked. The Capitol really allowed, for the first time, two people to be the winners of the great Hunger Games. Peter must be as stunned as he was.

After the arena everything turned out to be a big blur. He only knew that his preparation team had arrested him. After having his skin rubbed for as long as they felt healthy, Steve felt relatively well. Again it was put on military style uniform of old times. Moss green contrasted with blond hair, extremely hydrated, combed to the side. He looked quite presentable. But not like yourself. In front of the mirror he saw the reflection of his mentor.

"Your sponsor's here", said Fury.

"My sponsor?". Surprise crossed Steve's face. He did not expect to meet the man so soon. In fact he thought he would not have the opportunity.

"Remember the one who avoided your death once or twice?". Sarcasm dominated the man's voice. Rogers decided to ignore it.

"Yes, I remember".

Fury left to give the sponsor entrance. It was not what Steve had expected. The man of average stature was not what It was imagined of a resident of the Capitol. His brown hair looked rebellious. The face was adorned with a perfectly drawn beard, accompanied by a reddish goggles. He wore a black suit that was certainly ridiculously expensive. The surprise was that the man did not seem to have any aesthetic modification or wear wigs or strange adornments. Steve can not help but admit that the man was handsome. Incredibly handsome. Another surprise came to Rogers when he realized he already had seen the sponsor. Not personally. But in the Capitol's TV Shows.The brunette was a big stand out in them. A little darling. The president's son.

"Are you the mechanic?". Steve asked. Not taking Stark's eyes off, the winner asked. "The one who sent me the parachutes?" he added with genuine confusion. "Why?"

"Wow! Very straightforward", Stark couldn't help but get suprised by the aproach. "I expected a thank you to begin with. But 'why'? Good question, actually". Stark pretended to think. "You are ... hmm ... pretty handsome!?". Tony made the first attempt.

"You saved me because you think I look good?", said Steve, his face still stained with confusion.

"Yes? I mean, why not? I've done more for less handsome faces. You are definitely at the top of the list if that helps". Tony added as a seriousness that made the situation totally disconcerting to Steve.

"No, it does not", petulantly claimed the former mine worker, refusing to believe. One of the country's most important men would not simply help him with the kindness of his heart. Steve lived long enough to know that things did not work out that way.

"You're a lot harder to deal with than I thought", Tony said. "This behavior is making me question certain decisions made". Tony paused at Steve's confused look. He was too serious, Stark thought. An interesting contrast to the little stolen smiles in the arena. This should happen when you realize that a situation suddenly ceased to be deadly. "Okay Rogers. Straight to the point. I ... I just liked you".

"Liked me? It has improved a lot since 'I saved you because you look nice' ", Rogers could not hide the indignation. That man did not know him. He was just another eccentric in the capital. Probably with some fetish for killing. Also how could you expect anything other than a Stark.Tony laughed and Steve only confirmed what he had thought seconds ago.

"I said handsome, actually", tried Tony one more time. "Bad start, I'll admit. It's just ... you're different. After what you did to help the kid of your district, and then Peter, I could not let you die", he paused. "Not one more". The brown eyes seemed to be hazy with past memories.

"So basically you felt sorry for me", Steve said acidly.

"Would you prefer it to be the result of betting? I saved you because I did not want to lose my precious fortune", Stark snapped.

"It would not be unusual", Rogers said as the anger left his voice.

"You clearly think you know who I am. Well, guess what? You don't know. I helped you in the arena because I felt it was the right thing to do. Because I believed in you. Now it's up to you to believe on that or not", Tony argued intensely. "You'll realize, Rogers, that I am not like the others". The blonde was surprised at the seriousness and determination in his voice. It was definitely not the way people of the Capitol talked. "You better go, your trainers should be looking for you. We have a coronation to do", Stark finished and simply walked out the door, not taking a second look at Steve.

Tony really did not think his first meeting with the winner would be like this. He can not help but feel disappointed and irritated by Steve's preconception. But he can't blame the young man either. What Rogers had spent all his life had been the result of his father's tyranny. And he never had the opportunity to change that. Tony planned to transform the situation as soon as possible.

Steve and Peter were now in front of a large audience. Keeping up as much as possible, Rogers can not help but analyze President Stark. It was the first time he had remained so close to the man. He can see the similarities the tyrant shared with his son. The brown threads, the deep gaze, the posture of a leader. The older man still relied on Tony's wry attitude, but in a more veiled way. He doubted even a resident of the Capitol would realize that. 

The president ended a short speech about the happiness he felt when he saw two brave men standing there. Then began the coronation of the tributes. He grabbed the gold trim and positioned himself in front of Steve.

"Congratulations", he said, and Rogers realized how he tried to hide the irritation he felt. Put the metal on the blond strands and smiled, the object faltered at the head of Steve. "Be careful", said the leader softly, and Rogers felt that he was not talking just about the crown.


End file.
